The Scorned Heiress: No More Mercy novel Chapter 891

Eleanor holds Tara’s hand, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling with a warm smile. "Whatever ideas you young folks have for the engagement, just say the word. I'll support whatever you want."

"But we can't skip the proper etiquette," Eleanor continues. "The Dennis family might not be on the exact same level as the Calhouns, but we're still a top-tier dynasty. I won't let my precious granddaughter be shortchanged."

Today, Eleanor specifically called Tara back to the family estate. Aside from catching up over a meal, she wants to discuss the upcoming wedding.

"Absolutely," Aunt Kellen chimes in from the side, looking deeply serious. "Tara is the princess of the Dennis family. We all treasure her, so naturally, she can't be subjected to any grievances."

"Don't worry, I won't let anyone walk all over me. I'm pretty sharp, you know," Tara says, winking playfully.

She is completely confident in her relationship with Danny, and she already shares a great rapport with his mother, Mrs. Calhoun. She even feels that Danny's grandmother, Catherine, has changed her attitude toward her—even if the older woman is too stubborn to show it openly. Still, Tara can sense her underlying affection. As for Danny's disgraced uncle, without his former backing, he can't make any waves. She knows she is in good hands.

"That's good to hear. You put our minds at ease," Eleanor says. "Find out when his family is free, and we'll arrange a dinner to iron out the details. I'm retired, so I have all the time in the world to work around your schedules."

"Yes, Deanna called me today too," Eleanor adds, feeling a mix of frustration and pity for her daughter-in-law. "She was beating around the bush, but I knew exactly what she wanted to say. I warned her before not to focus solely on that adopted girl, but she never listened. Now she's living with the regret."

Tara presses her lips together, unsure of how to respond. She understands her mother's intentions. The rift between them is like a layer of thin ice—seemingly hard, but ready to shatter at the slightest touch. Neither knows how to reach out and melt it first.

Lowering her gaze, Tara traces the rim of her juice glass. She remembers her childhood, how Deanna used to hand-sew little dresses for her birthdays and stay up all night by her bed when she was sick.